Game Recognize Game
by BugzAroc
Summary: Tilting his head back, Randy once again ignored the burn as he thought about his own story. They all had one...Slash


**Title: **Game Recognize Game**  
**

**Rating: **T

**Summary: **Tilting his head back, Randy once again ignored the burn as he thought about his own story. They all had one.

**Warnings: **None**  
**

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing and no harm is meant. Seriously people, this is _**FICTION**_.

**Beta: **None, all mistakes are mine.

**A/N: So I started this sometime last month and then just forgot about it. It's set before Summerslam. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

Randy knocked back the dark liquid, barely registering the burn as it slid down his throat. He was currently sitting in another bar in another city he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of.

Setting down his glass, he signaled the bartender for another one. The petite blond said nothing as she poured another shot glass full of Jack and set it down in front of him, though Randy was sure all sorts of ideas had gone through her pretty little head in the course of the hour he'd been drinking.

Alcohol tended to loosen the tongue and provide a person with a false sense of confidence. Most responded by venting, putting all their business out in the street so to speak. Since it was usually a bartender who provided them with this liquid courage, they were normally on the receiving end of this lovely outpouring of the heart.

Randy liked to call them the poor man's psychologist. They met folks from all walks of life hearing every color of story there was to tell. Hell, he figured that after a few years on the job, bartenders could probably give you the same damn advice that the whacked out clowns with the couches did for a hell of a lot less.

Tilting his head back, Randy once again ignored the burn as he thought about his own story.

They all had one. You couldn't put that many men and women on the road for months on end and not expect some of them to develop a few...issues.

He set his glass back down but shook his head as the blond started his way. Four shots was more than enough for tonight. No, he wasn't a light weight so you can quit your fucking laughing. He'd just been unlucky enough to get picked as the designated driver for the night.

Knowing his luck, if he kept drinking he'd be the lone survivor after they crashed. Left all alone to face the wrath of the families, McMahon and the WWE Universe. Fun, don't ya think.

Rolling his shoulders, Randy turned around and leaned back against the bar, cool grey eyes scanning his surroundings. It wasn't that big of a big place. Maybe ten tables and five booths plus the seating around the bar area. Guess that was a small town for ya.

Even though the lighting was somewhat non-existent, Randy could still make out a few of his fellow playmates.

Ron, Evan, Morrison and the Hart boys sat off in one corner laughing away the night's stress. Each had a hand wrapped around some type of glass or bottle in Ron's case.

Randy watched as Evan gestured wildly, no doubt retelling that story about Chris falling off the boat during their last outing. His face was lit with a big smile, canines on display for all who looked his way.

And really...the kid had every right to be happy. Lately he'd been getting quite a lot of attention. Though his was the underdog in every sense of the word, his name was still showing up on the cards almost every Monday and he even had a couple of wins to boot. His determination and never ending energy kind of reminded Randy a little of John. Mentor, anyone...

So the kid had taken a few...unjust RKO's, Randy couldn't help the small smirk that broke, the high-flyer was still slowly but surely making his way to the top. A title shot was no doubt in his near future.

He let his eyes wonder on past their table, taking in the actions of a few strangers. Old friends clapping each other on the back, sharing drink after drink as they caught everyone up to speed on their life's. Jobs, wives, husbands, kids, tragedy and miracles alike.

Randy could also point out the few loners. Those that were here just to drink away their pain and sorrows, lay one or two on the bartender if he or she was willing to listen.

It was the greatest common misconception of the whole human race, trying to silence the voices with the bottle rather than face the problems head on. Randy was _truly_ speaking from experience here.

He stood, just about to head over to the last empty booth near the door when Maryse's fake giggles filtered in from somewhere behind him. Randy cringed but turned, leaning over the bar, to find her and Ted sitting among a few other superstars.

Funny, he never figured Ted for the annoying French type. Hell, he had never figured Ted for the straight type. For as long as he'd known the guy, Cody was all he ever talked about. Cody was his 'baby boy' and could do no wrong. The boy had become Ted's shadow early on while they were still kids and that was all there was to it. Anyone who dared look at Cody wrong had to answer to one pissed off Teddy bear. Cute and cuddly, I think not.

Randy narrowed his eyes as Maryse tightened her grip on Ted's arm and once again giggled at whatever the blond was saying. Randy was pretty sure that if he had to listen to that laugh 24/7, he'd gouge his own eyes out after the first hour. God only knows how Ted did it...or why for that matter.

Everyone knew this partnership between the two of them was just for show, a distraction for Ted.

Draft night hadn't been a good one for him and Cody. The couple's screaming could be heard one floor above and below them. Ted claimed his boy had requested the move, that there was someone waiting on him over on Smackdown. Cody of course denied the accusation, begging Ted to listen to him.

Let's just say that the sound of glass breaking isn't really conducive to "Okay baby, I believe you. Lets try this long-distance." At least not in Randy's book it wasn't.

So Ted was...acting out, that he understood. He just didn't understand why it had to be with Maryse.

"I'm awesome"

Speaking of acting out.

Turning back around, Randy was greeted to a very, very drunk Miz hanging onto the arm of some ring rat. Not surprisingly, the chick looked pretty annoyed.

Mike was basically just a train wreck waiting to happen. Had been that way for a while now due to a lovely string of broken relationships after another.

Though the guy had always been a little arrogant, _nothing wrong with a little self pride,_ _Randy thought,_ the kid had never been obnoxious about it...until now.

He was constantly throwing his accomplishments in everyone's face, sprouting off bullshit about him being better than anyone and demanding respect he was still light years away from even being nominated for. It was only just a matter of time before he ran up on a certain snake in the grass, one who was all too eager to put the little punk in his rightful place.

"No one can beat me, kn-know why? Cause I'm the Miz and I'm..."

Randy tuned him out, they'd all heard it before.

He could only figure the kid's over brash, cocky attitude was due to a lack of self-confidence and self-respect he added as he watched Mike shamelessly grind himself into the backside of his latest conquest. Judging by the look on her face, Randy was going to give it about another minute or so before she...-**SLAP**-, never mind.

Mike just barely missed clipping his head on the table as he hit the floor. The stinging in his cheek probably not even registering with his liquored up brain, nor the cold bite of the concrete floor. Something he'd definitely be feeling in the morning.

Had it of been Randy's choice, Mike would have been left there until the bar closed, could be why Cena loved to call him a cold-hearted bastard.

Luckily enough for Mizzy, his dear ol' ex still held some compassion...or maybe it was pity now. Whatever it may be, Morrison only hesitated a second before going and picking the drunk man up off the floor, helping him back to the table with the rest of the guys. No doubt wondering if he was going to be kicking himself in the morning for his generosity.

Randy shook his head seriously starting to wonder if they all wouldn't benefit from a group therapy session, maybe two or at the very least for this night to come to an end right now.

Since his booth was still unoccupied, Randy made his way across the bar, glad no one else had noticed it yet. Propping his back up against the wall, he stretched his long body out in the booth, legs hanging off the end of the seat.

After taking one last look around the bar, Randy closed his eyes, pitying the fool who decided to try and fuck with him.

Remember when he said they all had a story, yeah well, his wasn't as complicated or messy as some of the others. He knew what his problem was and even knew how to fix it.

Problem? He'd gone soft.

Alright, lets take a second and remove your minds from the fucking gutter, cause trust me, _soft_, he was _physically_ anything but.

Attitude wise...he'd gone soft. You could almost say that with the fall of Legacy, also came the fall of the old Orton.

Randy felt he was much more passive now a days. Like he wasn't so quick to anger, more likely to let the first few indiscretions bounce off him before he retaliated. A drastic contrast to the deadly unpredictable viper of the past. The same one who didn't care who you were, if you got in his way or crossed him, you took a beating. No questions asked, now _or _later, McMahons included.

One might offer an explanation that with age came wisdom, knowledge. His mellowing was just him picking and choosing his battles. Ignoring the rookies until absolutely necessary instead of shutting them up from the get-go. But this seemed to be the biggest part of his problem. Too many of them were now running around like chickens with their heads cut off thinking they were something great.

_-cough-_ Nexus _-cough-_

Randy had thought he needed a little bit of a change, switch up his tactics. But turning face in the eyes of some was never what he expected to happen and no where near what he wanted.

Good guys _always_ finished last had always been Randy's frame of mind, Cena being the only exception to the rule. Now he knew without a doubt that this was true.

If something wasn't broke, why try and fix it? Randy's old methods had never let him down before and as far as he was concerned, it was time for things to return to normal. Time to restore an order of hierarchy, put the rookies in their places and weed out the young boys from the men or in the words of his over exuberant lover, _Randy's _time was now.

He tensed when he felt someone join his booth, but instantly relaxed a second later as that oh so familiar scent assaulted his nostrils.

_John_

Keeping his eyes closed, Randy took a deep breath, letting his favorite scent wash over him, putting his war zone of a mind as peace for a few brief moments.

It never ceased to amuse him when he thought about the two of them. On-screen they had what could easily be called one of the greatest rivalries known to WWE history but once the camera's stopped rolling and the fans disappeared, it only made sense that all that undeniable chemistry and passion be put to a much better use.

Normally it was never a great idea to mix business with pleasure but Randy dared any one fool to take a good hard look at the pair and find fault. They won't find any, that he could guarantee you.

"Randy?"

"Hmm" He turned his head towards John but his eyes remained closed.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Randy chuckled as he moved to sit correctly in the booth. "Worth a hell of a lot more than a penny"

A small smile graced John's lips when Randy finally opened his eyes. It didn't reach his baby blues and those ever present dimples were uncharacteristically absent. His right hand was caressing the neck of a bottle, the left fiddling with the brim of his hat, which sat on the table.

They regarded each other for a few quiet moments. The silence comfortable enough, neither felt obligated to fill it.

"You look like shit" Randy observed after a while.

This must of tickled John since he started laughing as he replaced his ball cap then took a swig of his beer. When he looked back over at Randy his eyes still remained distant.

"Trust me, I feel like it." His gaze slipped from Randy's, scanning the bar but not really searching the room for anyone in particular. He noticed that majority of the guys and Maryse had gravitated to one area, probably all just about ready to leave.

John felt like he was a hamster in a wheel, running and running but with no real destination to go to. Week after week, it was the same shit with Nexus and he was tired of it. Tired of getting his ass kicked and tired of Randy asking him if he wanted the younger man's help. Without a doubt, the man could and would put this non-sense to an end if John asked him but it was bad enough everyone thought he was Randy's bitch. Nope, John would handle this one on his own.

"But what about you. Your the one who looks like he's planning someone's death."

Randy smirked. "Something like that"

"Yeah?"

"Yep" Randy nodded reaching into his pocket for his cellphone. He gazed at the screen but didn't answer, just tossed the phone up onto the table. Cody was only calling to ask about Ted, if he was actually spending time with her or anyone else for that matter outside the ring.

Randy may play friend and mentor but he wasn't going to get in the middle of this. He had enough trouble keeping tabs on the one sitting across from him, he wasn't about to add another to that list.

John finished up the last of his beer. Once he had realized who was calling, Randy _brooding_ over here in the corner made sense. The younger man had said it plenty of times, but John hadn't really thought much of it. Everyone had a story and who better to narrate this fucked up novel than the one with the most issues. Whether he admitted it not.

"So Dr. Orton, what's your write-up going to say at the end of the night."

Randy flipped him the bird but talked non the less.

"Evan's about to show us all up and Ted and Cody are driving me up the fucking wall. One of them, really just Ted, needs to grow a pair and admit he was wrong so they can go back to fucking like rabbits and I don't have to play the middle man or listen to Maryse _giggle_ anymore. And I'm pretty sure the Miz is only a few drinks away from total darkness every night or from taking the wrong companion back to his room. Oh yeah, on a side note I think creative might be trying to mold Swagger in Angle's image. Huge mistake by the way."

John nodded making a noise of approval as they stood up. The night had come to an end, pretty much uneventful aside from Mike getting slapped. Ron and Evan joined Randy and John as they walked out. Ted was the other designated driver. He had rented the truck so he took the hart boys, Morrison, Mike, and well, you know.

"And what about you and me?"

Everyone but John and Randy had stopped outside the door, finishing up conversations and saying goodbye. In the morning they all had to head out, some on the road, the others opting to fly so they could have extra time to relax before the shows started up.

Randy lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag as he thought about his answer. They'd reached the car and John was watching him closely, patiently waiting.

"I need to win back my title" Randy started, deliberately ignored the smirk John threw his way. "And you need to get rid of those jackasses, that way things can go back to normal." He paused knowing John wouldn't take the bait but still wanted to add the effect.

"Me kicking your ass every Monday night just for the fun of it since there's no chance in hell your going to be champ."

John laughed, honest to god laughed, his baby blues finally getting the memo this time. The sound calmed Randy's nerves better than the cigarette hanging between his fingers, could be the reason he hadn't had one in a while.

"Alright, big guy. You keep dreaming and I'll be sure to wake you at Summerslam."

"Earth to Centon, Ron and I would like to get back to the hotel and since we've no keys..." Evan trailed off at the glare Randy shot him. He averted his gaze, suddenly taking a great interest in red paint job.

Choosing not to respond to the laughter or Evan's slip up, Randy unlocked the car for the guys, taking one last drag before snuffing his cigarette out on one of his boots.

He climbed into the car, starting her up, slapping John's hand away from the radio when Eminem's 'Love the Way You Lie" began playing. Shifting gears he peeled out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

"Sit tight and enjoy the ride, boys."


End file.
